


Riled Up

by Ammeh



Series: FE3H Wankfic [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Female My Unit | Byleth, Masturbation, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21828817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammeh/pseuds/Ammeh
Summary: Hubert imagines making Byleth come undone (and maybe comes a little undone himself).
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Hubert von Vestra
Series: FE3H Wankfic [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862374
Comments: 10
Kudos: 233





	Riled Up

**Author's Note:**

> An homage to one of the lines in-game that sent my mind plummeting straight into the gutter.
> 
> Had a bit of trouble at the start because I can't decide whether I think Hubert is a virgin or not. Since I wasn't going for comedy, he's either not a virgin or has read enough relevant material for educational or entertainment purposes to know how things work. The details have been left as an exercise for the reader.

“I wonder what it takes to rile you up.”

He'd meant to disquiet her. He was thinking of confusion, fear, embarrassment, anger—all emotions he knows how to capitalize on.

He'd been expecting an uncomfortable shift, at best—another of her blankly calm stares, at worst. He _hadn't_ been prepared for a minute widening of her eyes, a hint of a flush on her cheeks as she deadpanned, “Who knows?” before walking off.

That sort of...riling had not crossed his mind.

_He's certainly thinking about it now._

He should be figuring out how he can use this. It's a tool, a seed he could possibly nurture to sway her. To keep her distracted, out of the way, or perhaps even to aim her at their goals.

Yet his mind is stubbornly fixated on the idea of the...execution.

What she would look like in his lap, that hint of redness on her cheeks graduated to a full-fledged blush as his hands trace the curve of her waist. Running his palms up her inexplicable-but-mesmerizing lace-covered thighs, perhaps a sharp inhalation as his fingers dip under her shorts and graze her mound.

He imagines her coat on the floor of his room, boots kicked off against the door, her breath quickening as he unbuckles her breastplate. Wonders whether she'd reach for his buttons with hunger in her eyes, or watch in blushing anticipation as he disrobes. How she'd react if he slid his hands up her shirt, ran his fingers over her toned abdomen. Imagines tugging it up over her ridiculous, distracting chest—and what sort of tiny noise might form in her throat when he rolls her breasts in his hands.

Damn it all.

He exhales tensely, leaning back from his desk and unfastening his uncomfortably tight trousers. He looks over at his bed, imagines her breath catching in her chest as he presses her down onto it. He palms himself through his underwear, thinks of drawing her shorts down over her hips. Would he see underwear trapped under lace, or are they stockings, gartered just out of sight? He pictures stockings, pictures leaving them on as he slides her underwear down her legs.

What would it take to make her _whimper_? He imagines caressing her inner thighs, sliding his knuckles along her slit and her legs spreading wide to allow him access. He'd grind the heel of his hand against her mound, tease his fingers between her lips and circle her nub with his thumb. Would that do it, or would he have to work at it—pump his fingers into her clenching heat and feel for the spots that would make her gasp, roll her clit in slick circles until his hand was on the verge of cramping before she'd finally, finally crack?

He pours a few drops of weapon oil from the shelf into his palm and tugs his cock out, wraps his fingers around the shaft as he imagines biting at her inner thighs until her breath comes in little gasps. He'd hold her hips down, tease her with ghosting breaths and fleeting touches until she was squirming. Could he get her to beg? Would it be a vulnerable, desperate “ _Please_ ,” or a frustrated growl of “ _Do something already!”_? He rolls his palm over the head of his cock, and imagines taunting her—“ _Demanding, aren't we, Professor?”—_ before grabbing her rear and pulling her pelvis up, lashing her clit with his tongue until she sobbed.

What sound would she make when he brought her over the edge? A long moan, a keen, a near-inaudible satisfied inhalation? Would she wriggle away from his mouth gasping “ _Too much”_ as she came down, or grab his hair and pull him closer to chase another peak?

He pulls at his cock—envisions her a panting mess, flushed down to her heaving chest, her thighs smeared with her slick and his saliva. A breathless “ _More_ ”—pleading or demanding.

He tightens his grip on his shaft as he pictures pulling her into his lap, squeezing his cock into her sopping core and pressing deep. What would she do if he just held himself there, raised an expectant eyebrow and waited for her to move? Would she know this, flow into it as naturally as she does combat, or would she give that tiny, uncertain frown, awkwardly trying her best at something new?

With horror, he realizes he's finding the memory of that frown...endearing, rather than a reason for contempt, for annoyance that the church appointed them such a supremely unqualified instructor.

He shakes his head to clear the thought, imagines holding her hips and thrusting up into her, her nails biting into his shoulders as she clutches at him. His cock throbs as he pictures her face scrunched up with pleasure, her legs wrapping around his waist to balance herself as she brings a hand down to rub at her clit. He wouldn't let up, he'd drive into her body until she cracked—a barrage of moaning gasps, a throaty cry? Or perhaps her mercenary upbringing would come through with a stream of breathless cursing that would turn his ears red.

He thrusts up into his hand, envisions her clenching around him and wailing—slowly coming back to herself and shooting a nervous glance at the door as she wonders who might have just heard her moaning in a student's bed. He imagines reclaiming her attention with a sharp thrust, reminding her she's still spread open on his cock, making sure she meets his eyes before he presses deep and empties himself into her body.

Ironically the thought puts _him_ at risk of being heard from the halls—he chokes down a groan, shoving his face into his sleeve to muffle his gasps as he comes. With each pulse he imagines her red-faced, moaning, completely undone.

_Damn it._

He cleans himself up and straightens his trousers, fantasies of the professor's flushed face and stocking-clad legs still racing through his head. With a huff, he leans back and runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

He's feeling profoundly...disquieted.

**Author's Note:**

> Whenever it comes to Hubert, I am torn between my love of Edelgard/Byleth/Hubert and my desire to see Hubert struggle with an infatuation that doesn't fit tidily into his existing sense of purpose. 
> 
> Does anyone else miss LJ-era anon kink memes? Nothing sent me on more of a writing spree, I would be sitting on piles of 3H fic if they were still a thing.
> 
> I do think I have at least one more in me regardless, so feel free to chime in on which of the following fic ideas you'd most like to see (no promises to write the winner, but we'll see):
> 
> 1\. Post-timeskip, married Dorothea + Ferdinand discussing their respective giant crushes on Manuela and eventually deciding to do something about it  
> 2\. Pre-timeskip, something similar to this fic with Dimitri (because pre-timeskip Dimitri wants to wife Byleth so badly and I'm here for it)  
> 3\. Pre and post timeskip, Claude finding out that uninterested-in-intimacy-preSothis!Byleth has never kissed anyone and getting kind of obsessed with it
> 
> (Full disclosure, 1 is already partially written.)


End file.
